Hostage Taking?
by Kuroi Tenshi1
Summary: Cat's off to Vegas to get hitched. But on the way, a dememted broomhead forcibly hitches a ride...


**Hostage Taking?**

By Kuroi Tenshi

                "Bye! Take care!" Quatre Raberba Winner happily shouted after the black limo at the gate. After it disappeared from his sight, he checked his watch and waited ten minutes before turning to the servants still lined up behind him. "Your turn!"

                The moment he said that, the line was gone and the servants were rushing inside to get the pile of luggage they had stashed inside the kitchen. Less than twenty minutes later, Quatre stood alone in the Winner's wide and spacious driveway, all the servants gone for three whole weeks and not to return until his father and sisters were due to return a day later. 

                He took a deep breath and sighed happily. Life was good!

                Making sure all the doors in the mansion were locked, he made his way to his shiny mustang, the one his father bought him only two days ago. His own luggage stashed at the trunk. He gave the mansion one last glance before driving away. He still had a day's-worth of driving until he reached Las Vegas where he'd be meeting his fiancé so he better get going. 

                Of course no one from his family or anyone for that matter, except his best friend, knew he'd be getting married. His family left for Europe thinking they'd be leaving little Quatre alone with all the servants and studying for the upcoming exams. And the servants didn't care why their young master was sending them away for such a long time as long as they were given time to relax and have fun without worrying about chores and their jobs.

                Quatre grinned. By the time everyone returns three weeks later, I'll be married man. Indeed, life was good.

~*~*~*~

                Quatre hummed cheerfully as he stacked his cart with chips and bottles of soda, when he got to the cashier, he smiled innocently as the old lady asked if he's going somewhere.

                "I'll be driving to Las Vegas," Quatre replied proudly. "And I want to eat while I drive so I won't fall asleep."

                "And what do you plan on doing there?" asked the lady as she placed all he bought in the plastic bag. 

                "People go to Las Vegas for only two things. One, casino, two, to get married. I'm going to get married," he winked before handing her the money.

                Behind him, the young man with brown hair and strange bang(s?) looked up. Las Vegas?

                 Quatre took his change and the bag before cheerfully walking out of the door. As he was opening his door, someone walked behind him and he felt something hard pressing against his back. 

                "Don't shout, keep quiet and open the door," was the gruff order.

                Quatre held up his hands. "Please don't take me, please, please, please!" he started pleading. "Take the car, my money, take everything just don't harm me! I'll be married in two days, my fiancé's waiting for me!"

                Trowa sighed. "Just shut up and get in the car," he barked. 

                Quatre pouted before doing as he was told to. Trowa quickly walked to the other side and got in next to Quatre. "Now drive."

                Quatre looked at him, his eyes wide and pleading. "Let me go, please?"

                "DRIVE!"

                He grudgingly started the car and within minutes, they were driving along the almost deserted road. "Can't you let me go?"

                "No," was his hostage-taker's muffled reply, mouth full of the goodies he bought at the store. 

                Quatre glared at him. "LET ME GO!"

                Trowa pointed his gun at him. "Drive and shut up."

                Quatre relented, shoulders sagging. "You know, why don't you just take away my car and money and let me go? I mean, no one will pay the ransom anyway. My family's in Europe and I sent everyone who works in our mansion home. You won't get any money from me. Or are you…" Quatre's eyes widened and he inched away from Trowa.

                Trowa's own eyes widened, as he understood. "What? Excuse me but I have no interest in guys like you!"

                Quatre humped and focused on the road. "Like I'd believe that! If what you're saying's true then let me go. Take my car and money, just let me go!"

                Trowa pointed his pistol at Quatre. "Is it really that impossible for you to shut up?"

                Quatre stuck out his tongue and glared at him for a moment before returning his attention on the road. "You're so mean and rude! Look, I'll be married soon and I don't want my fiancé to find out his loving Quatre's been taken hostage by some guy who's got a broom for his head!"

                Trowa shook his head, forcing himself to ignore the broomhead remark. "Just drive and I promise I won't harm you."

                "And how can I be sure you won't?" he asked, raising his eyebrow and looking at Trowa using the rearview mirror. "What if you're this deranged murderer who enjoys torturing his unsuspecting victims who he picks up and kidnaps from supermarkets like Seven Eleven?"

                "For your information, I'm no deranged murderer. And I just need to get to Las Vegas so will you just shut the hell up? And you call this driving? A turtle crawls faster than this car! Drive faster."

                "How do you expect me to drive when you're pointing your gun at me?" Quatre asked, his voice raising a little. "I have a deranged murderer with me in the car and you're expecting me to drive?"

                "I'm not a deranged murderer, I hope to make that clear. And fine, get out of the car," Trowa said. "I'm driving."

                Quatre shook his head, not taking his hands off the steering wheel. Trowa got out and looked at him. "Out!"

                He remained completely still and looked at him, eyes wide and tears threatening to fall. Trowa pointed the gun at him and the tears were gone in an instant. He got out, grumbling and cursing and occupying Trowa's seat. "You'll rot in hell, you know," he said.

                "I don't care," was Trowa reply as he got comfortable behind the wheel. "Hey, I like your car. It's really nice."

                "My daddy bought it for me few days ago. You can keep it I don't care. Just let me go."

                "Why don't you shut up? I need you to take me to Vegas so you're not going anywhere. Got it?" Trowa said, looking at the blond boy.

                He shook his head and kept quiet. Trowa sighed. "Why don't we introduce ourselves? It'll be a long ride from here to Las Vegas. I'm Trowa, what's you're name?"

                "Quatre," he mumbled under his breath. "Can't we go now? I'm already behind schedule, thanks to the deranged murd—" he stopped as he felt Trowa's gun on his throat. "Since my new friend here hitched a ride. But I'm sure Michael won't mind."

                "That's good," Trowa said before driving. 

~*~*~

                A young man with a mop of curly red hair walked around arrogantly. He was staring at a girl's behind when he almost bumped into a tree. He shook his head then continued staring and following young girls around town. 

                I don't understand why I have to wait for Quatre to get some, he shook his head before following a group of teenage girls.

~*~*~*~

                Quatre looked around him incredulously. "Where are we? We're not supposed to be here, we're supposed to be somewhere in the desert! Are you sure you know the way? I think you just got us lost!"

                Trowa stopped the car and got out. "Wow! Snow!" then he started running around the snow. "I don't care if we're lost, there's snow!"

                Quatre shook his head in disbelief. "Come back here, broomhead! We need to go to Las Vegas! Come back! It's only snow for heaven's sake!"

                Trowa ignored him, still running around and playing in the snow. "I don't usually see snow from where I come from," he shouted back. "So I wanna enjoy this snow as much as I can."

                Quatre saw Trowa's delight as an opportunity to escape. He started running toward the little hut hundreds of feet away. He groaned inwardly as the snow reached his knees. 

                Trowa saw what he was doing and started to run after him. 

                Damn! Quatre thought. "Leave me alone!" he shouted, still running. 

                "I told you I need to get to Vegas!" Trowa shouted back, catching up on Quatre. He grabbed the end of Quatre's jacket and pulled. "I'm desperate!"

                "I know, you don't need to tell me you're desperate, I can see—oof!" he let out a cry as he stumbled back, falling backwards in the snow. He hastily stood up and started to run again but Trowa's hold on him was firm. Trowa grabbed his hands and wouldn't let go. 

                "Help! HELP! HELP! HELP!" Quatre shouted. 

                "You really can't shut up, can you?" Trowa said, pulling something from behind his jeans' pocket. For a moment Quatre was afraid that he'd start shooting him. Trowa showed him the handkerchief he had and his eyes widened, as he understood what Trowa was about to do. 

                Trowa used the hanky to gag Quatre. Still holding his hands, he dragged the squirming blond back to the car. 

                Once inside, he pointed the gun at Quatre again. "Shut up or I'll shoot you, I'm serious."

                Quatre nodded eyes wide. Then he started screaming despite the gag. Trowa ignored him and continued driving. 

~*~*~*~

                Trowa couldn't ignore the blond boy longer. He pulled over the side of the road and turned to his companion. "What did you say? I can't understand you." ha asked exasperatedly. 

                "mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmppphhh!!!" Quatre replied, glaring at him and gesturing at the gag. 

                Trowa sighed. "Fine, take it off. But don't you start screaming or I'll shoot."

                Quatre rolled his eyes and took of the gag, throwing it at Trowa's face. "I said I need to go pee," he said, glaring at him.

                Trowa shrugged. "Then go pee." He also got out. 

                Quatre glared at him before opening the door and got out. "Don't you dare look while I'm peeing," he said.

                "I already told you, you're not my type at all. I don't like little kids."

                "HA! I'm like a kid to you? For your information, I'm already nineteen!" He was walking along the bushes when Trowa called out to him. "What did you say?"

                "I said watch out for those rattlesnakes," Trowa repeated, watching in amusement as Quatre instantly made his way back without peeing. 

                "I thought you said you wanted to pee," Trowa said, leaving against the door, back turned against Quatre. His shoulders were shaking a little.

                He's laughing! Quatre realized. He glared at him and noticed the gun in front of him, reaching out. He grabbed it and pointed it at Trowa. "Turn around."

                Trowa turned and he stiffened when he saw the gun. Quatre allowed a smirk but it was replaced by a frown when Trowa started laughing again. "Shut up! I'll shoot you if you don't shut up!" he threatened. 

                But his threats were met by more laughter from Trowa. He glared at him. "Shut up or I'll pull the trigger, I'm serious!"

                Trowa held up his hands, still laughing. "Then I dare you to pull it. No way can a rich sissy like you pull that trigger." The he started laughing again. 

                Quatre saw red. He covered his ear using his free hand and pulled the trigger, wincing and shutting his eyes as he did. But instead of the loud bang of a bullet, soft squirting of water reached his ears. 

                That and Trowa's laughter. 

                Quatre shook his head in fury. "You mean to tell me from LA till here, you were threatening me with this water pistol?" 

                Trowa nodded, soft chuckle escaping his lips every now and then. He wasn't laughing however when Quatre stalked toward him and delivered a well-deserved kick on the groin. 

                Cursing and mumbling under his breath, Quatre stomped back in his car and drove away, leaving a doubling Trowa, with pain this time, not laughter. 

                "Wait! Hey, wait for me!" Trowa called out, still bent over by the pain between his legs. 

                But Quatre ignored him.

                Trowa sighed. He walked back to the side of the road and started waving his hands frantically. That blond brat's gonna pay for this. 

                A yellow pick-up stopped in front of him and the door opened. "Where are you going?" the driver asked.

                "To Las Vegas," Trowa replied, thanking the gods as the driver let him in. He closed the door and sighed. That brat's gonna get what he deserved sooner or later.

~*~*~*~

                Quatre wailed as the engine died. "Noooooo! Not now!" 

                He looked around helplessly and just as he expected, he was in the middle of nowhere. No one can help him fix the car. 

                Just then, a yellow pick-up stopped next to him. He waved his hands frantically and he thanked the gods above. Trowa got out. "Wait for me, okay?" he said, smiling at the driver. "It looks like you're stuck here."

                Quatre's eyes widened and he started to run after the truck pulling away. He realized in his horror that he was stuck with Trowa and their only way out was driving away. 

                "Look at what you did!" Trowa shouted, glaring at him. "You scared him away!" he glared at him and shook his head. "You're full of bad luck."

                Quatre snorted. "HA! Me? Full of bad luck? Tell me about it," he rolled his eyes. "I'll be married soon and before I go to Las Vegas some broomhead kidnaps me and now I'm stuck with my car, not working, in the middle of nowhere with you! Talk about bad luck!" he noticed Trowa bent over the hood of the car. He was looking at the engine. "What do you think you're doing?"

                "I think I'm trying to save us from dying in the middle of nowhere, if we don't kill each other first," he replied, not looking up.

                Quatre frowned. "Do you think you can fix it?"

                "No, I simply like sticking my head under the hood to get that exhilarating feel of gasoline and engine on my face."

                Quatre glared at Trowa and sat on the driver's side, switching stations, trying to find something good on the radio. He settled with the one paying classic.

                Trowa walked towards him and Quatre gulped. He must've been staying too long under the sun. Because to him, Trowa looked… well—_sexy_—and he wasn't supposed to. Trowa's green eyes seemed to bore right through him as Quatre watched him get closer and closer… and closer.  His breath hitched a bit as he noticed the first few buttons of Trowa's shirt undone. Damn he's hot.  He shook his head furiously. No, no, no! Damn it's hot, not him.

                "What?" Trowa asked, bent under the hood again.

                "What do you mean 'what?' I wasn't doing anything! If you think I was staring at you, you are so wrong! You probably think I see you as someone sexy. Well I don't!" Quatre shouted defensively, his knuckles turning white from gripping the door so tight.

                Trowa grinned as he closed the hood and walked back to the driver's side. "So you think I'm sexy, huh?"

                Quatre's face burned and shook his head furiously. "No. Who said you're sexy? Besides, can't we just go? My fiancé's waiting for me."

                "Can't you stop talking and saying 'my fiancé's waiting for me' for a second? It's getting kind of annoying," Trowa said, starting the engine. 

                Quatre pursed his lips and looked at him. "Fine. Thanks for fixing my car. By the way, what do you think you're doing behind the wheel?"

                "I think of it fair that I fixed your car, now you can say thank you by letting me go with you to Las Vegas. Besides, I really need to go there."

                Quatre sighed. "Fine, you can go. But no more toy guns, okay? And why do you need to go there anyway? Are _you_ getting married?" he smiled at him.

                Trowa grinned and shook his head. "I'm running away from the police."

                Quatre's smile froze. "So I guess that means you really _are_ a deranged murderer."

                Trowa shot him a glance and his grip on the wheel tightened. "No, my sister's looking for me and she had the police after me."

                "So you're a runaway?" Quatre got a nod. He shrugged. "Anyway, I guess it won't do any harm if you go to Vegas with me. But before we go, we need to stop by somewhere first."

                Trowa nodded. "Thanks. And I promise, once we get to Las Vegas, I'll be out of your face forever."

~*~*~*~

                Trowa stared at the three-storey building in front of him. 

                Quatre cheerfully got of the car and hurried to his side while Trowa was still staring. He impatiently knocked on the window and Trowa opened the door, narrowly missing Quatre's nose. "What do you think we're doing here?"

                "What does it look like?" Quatre asked. "We're going shopping! I can't go to my wedding in rags now can I?"

                "I think I already told you that the police are after me. I don't have time to shop."

                "You don't but I do!" the blond replied, pulling him out of the car and almost dragging him inside the mall.

Three hours later….

                "How about this?" Quatre asked Trowa who was leaning against the wall. He held up a pink cotton shirt. "Or this?" he held up another shirt.

                Trowa sighed. Quatre had been asking him the same question for the last three hours and he was getting tired of playing fashion expert. "Why don't you buy them both? You have the money."

                Quatre's eyes lit up. "You're right! Ms. Saleslady, I'd like to but these shirts. Oh, and that one displayed over there as well. Thanks." He turned to Trowa and grinned. "Why don't we eat after this? All the shopping made me hungry."

                Trowa watched Quatre at the corner of his eye. The blond boy was eating his ice cream hungrily, some of the ice cream was at his nose. He felt a smile tug on his lips as he watched him. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and wiped the ice cream off his nose. 

                Quatre looked up, puzzled. "What was that for?"

                "You had ice cream on your nose," Trowa replied. Then grinned. "This is weird. I'm running away from the police asked by my sister to bring me home and yet I'm in a mall, shopping with you."

                Quatre smiled. "Yeah, so tell me, why did you run away anyway?"

                Trowa shrugged. "Actually, when you think about it, I had no reason to run away. My sister and I disagreed on a lot of things. I wanted…" he trailed off, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I've always wanted to be in a circus so I left town. But I failed, no circus hired me."

                "Why don't you come back then? I'm sure she'll understand."

                For the first time, Trowa saw Quatre as a different person, not the rich brat he "kidnapped" few hours ago. He seemed… to care. He seemed like someone capable of being sensitive with other people's feelings. He smiled at him. "That's why I'm going to Las Vegas."

                "Why didn't you go back earlier then? When you first failed?"

                Trowa shrugged. "I guess I wanted to be somebody when I return. I didn't want to return home as nobody, like the way I left. But I guess I AM nobody. Maybe farming's my real calling. Anyway, enough about me. Tell me... why are you getting married to this Michael?"

                Quatre smiled. "Because…" he paused then frowned, thinking hard. Why? Why was he marrying him anyway? "Because if I don't marry him I'll be married to some blonde with creepy fork eyebrows when my family returns three weeks from now?" he replied before he could stop himself. He blushed, feeling Trowa's eyes on him. "What?"

                "So you're saying you don't even love this guy you're about to spend your life with?"

                "Michael's fine, he's nice, understanding and loyal. Besides, if things don't work out, I can always file for divorce."

                Trowa just stared at him like he grew another head or something. "I never imagined this was how it was. You seemed to be in love with him while in the car."

                "Who said anything about being in love? I'll learn to love him as we live together as husband and… er…husband soon enough. Besides, I like him."

                "Tell me, Quatre, what's the biggest risk you ever took in your entire life?"

                Quatre thought for a while then replied, "marrying Michael. Why?" 

                "Because I think that the biggest risk in life is falling in love," Trowa said softly, staring into his deep blue eyes. 

~*~*~*~

                Quatre sneaked a glance at his companion. They were finally at Las Vegas and he would finally be rid of him. Trowa cleared his throat and he looked at him, admiring how beautiful his eyes were. They were of deep green, like the emerald.

                "Um—thanks for everything," he said, giving him a small smile. "I really appreciate it and I'm sorry for kidnapping you in the first place."

                Quatre smiled back. "You're welcome. Anyway... why don't we eat something before you go? My treat."

                "Are you sure? What if your fiancé minds you having dinner with other people just before the wedding?"

                "He's the one who's not answering my calls," Quatre rolled his eyes. "And he won't mind." I hope.  He offered his arm and Trowa took it gently. "Let's go."

                They spent the afternoon touring and having fun. Night came and they were walking around cheerfully, taking in the sights. 

                A couple approached them, camera at hand. "Can you take our picture?"

                Trowa shrugged and took the camera from the woman. The couple posed. After taking the picture, he handed her back the camera. 

                "Thanks," she said, smiling as she took the camera back. "By the way, you make such a cute couple," she commented before she and her lover walked away. 

                They both looked at each other, bewilderment and surprise etched on their faces. Then Quatre broke into a grin. "Will you look at that! We make a cute couple. From being your hostage, now I'm your lover." 

                Trowa chuckled. "You're getting pretty lucky. So what now?"

                The blond Arab shrugged. "I don't know. Michael hasn't been answering my calls. I wonder what he's up to."

~*~*~*~

                A bellboy walked briskly toward Room 663. The newlyweds occupying the room just checked in and he was to deliver their bags immediately. He paused as he passed Room 666. He frowned. Was it just his imagination or were inhuman sounds coming from the room? 

                He shrugged and continued walking. 

                "Come here baby," Michael purred at the redhead on his bed. 

~*~*~*~

                Trowa drummed his fingers as he waited for the middle-aged woman behind the counter check them in. He wasn't sure what he was getting into but when Quatre asked him if he had a place to go and he said none, he accepted his invitation to stay overnight with him. "I'll get lonely when I'm alone," the blond had reasoned out. 

                Quatre turned to him minutes later, his trademark smile—the one Trowa found innocent looking and incredibly sexy at the same time—on his face. "It seems as if the only room not occupied is the honeymoon suite. I hope you don't mind sharing a bed with me."

                Trowa was once again found drumming his fingers on the side table of the bed. Quatre was stuffing some of the clothes from his suitcases on the closet. The sounds of someone laboring under a pile of clothing were amusing. And occasional cursing could be heard once in a while.

                Trowa sighed. This was wrong. He shouldn't be in this hotel room with Quatre. He should be miles away right now, on his way home to his sister. It doesn't matter if nothing's going on between them, it was still wrong. Quatre was to be hitched tomorrow so he should be spending time with his fiancé, not with him.

                He stood up and grabbed his jacket from the chair he flung it on a while ago. "Quatre? I'm going our for a while." He needed time to think. There's something new about him that he couldn't understand. Something weird, very weird. He finds Quatre Winner attractive. Sexy. Beautiful. Lovable, adorable, nice, godlike—okay, that's enough thinking for now, Trowa scolded himself as he walked out of the room and made his way down, intending to walk around for a while to clear his head.

                Thirty minutes later, Trowa was making his way back to their room. His walk didn't help at all. He ended up seeing Quatre dressed in nothing but a pair of socks waiting for him on the bed.

                I admit, he's beautiful, too beautiful for words. And my short time spent with him was well… interesting. He wasn't as bratty as he was when we first met and he seemed like a nice sensitive guy. 

                A nice sensitive guy who'll marry someone to avoid marrying another woman. But he's sensitive. He let me stay with him tonight.

                Trowa shook his head as he opened the door. True, he may have remote feelings (whatever those feelings were) for Quatre but that didn't mean the other boy felt the same. What would he see in me anyway? He's rich and beautiful. And he's got a fiancé waiting faithfully for him tomorrow on their wedding. 

                He stopped dead on his tracks as he entered the room. Something's wrong. The cursing from the closet was gone and no sounds could be heard from the room. He looked around frantically, fearing something happened to Quatre. 

                He searched the whole suite, nothing. No signs of struggle, no ransom note, nothing. Then he heard it. Noises. Noises sounding like…

                The helpless wailing of a dying cow. 

                It was coming from the bathroom! He quickly made his way there, not even wondering how a dying cow could possibly be in their bathroom. In his mind, he could see Quatre trapped in the tub, watching as a deranged murder slaughter the helpless cow. 

                He kicked the door open and came face to face with something he never imagined he would see before. 

                Quatre stood frozen, the last lyrics of "I Will Survive" dying in his throat as Trowa burst in the room. They stood there, staring at each other's eyes before red started crawling from his cheeks to the roots of his hair. 

                Trowa gaped. Standing in front of him was Quatre, bare as the day he was born. There was no dying cow in sight. But someone was bound to die tonight. 

~*~*~*~

                Quatre walked numbly toward the bed, now completely clothed. Trowa was still torturing himself over the "incident" that happened minutes ago. "It's okay, really. It's okay," he reassured the lanky man. 

                Trowa shook his head. "I'm really sorry. I mean, I didn't mean to. I just thought that—I'm sorry!" he repeated over and over again.

                Quatre blushed, remembering seeing Trowa burst in like that while he was singing, butt-naked on top of that. "It's okay. I mean, I don't mind. I mean, I don't mind as in as don't mind but not I don't mind as in I don't mind you seeing me naked!" he said, clumsily explaining just what he meant. He sighed.

                Okay, fine. So he doesn't mind that Trowa saw him naked. Even if he said he didn't mean it, as I don't mind you seeing me naked, he didn't mind at all. He mentally hit himself. What was he thinking? Of course he should mind! 

                But he didn't. That made things confusing. Does that mean he's gay? Of course he's gay, he'll be married to another man tomorrow! So what does it mean then? That he liked people seeing him naked? That wasn't it either. 

                He made his way to the bed and snuggled in. "Goodnight, Trowa. And for the last time, don't sweat about it." He needed to sleep on it. He had a weeding to go to tomorrow. He needed his beauty sleep. 

~*~*~*~

                Quatre woke up, slowly opening his eyes. He noticed a lump beside him and he felt a smile tug at his lips. He realized he better move fast or he'll be late for the ceremony but he made no move to get up, not yet anyway. He enjoyed watching Trowa sleep. 

                _The biggest risk in life is falling in love…_

                He bit his lip. Was he in love? With Trowa? But that couldn't be possible. People say people can fall in love in a blink of an eye but that's all rubbish to him. He believed that love needed time to grow. So… what was it then?

                He kind of suspected he was attracted to the man with a broom for his head when they arrived at Las Vegas. He was gorgeous, he admitted. But I'm not sure if this attraction was strong enough to grow into love.

                He noticed his watch on top of the side table and his eyes widened. He really needed to go. He cautiously stood up and hastily took a bath. After a few minutes, Quatre, in a white tuxedo paused at the door. And before he could stop himself, he was standing next to Trowa's sleeping form. He leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. When he pulled back, he smiled sadly. "I like you, Trowa. I like you a lot." Then turned and walked away, willing himself not to look back. 

~*~*~*~

                Michael paced around nervously. The old minister in front of him sighed. "Are you sure he's coming?"

                Michael nodded distractedly. "Of course! What do you think I'm doing here if he's not gonna show up?"

                The minister shrugged. Seconds later, Quatre entered the little room, a sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry I'm late."

                "Quatre my love!" Michael exclaimed, extending his arms for him. 

                The blond Arab looked around uncertainly then gave his fiancé a brief hug. "Hi."

                "Let's begin," the man said, urging them forward. 

                Quatre looked at Michael uneasily. "Wait, wait, wait!" They paused and stared at him. He could feel a blush slowly making its way to his cheeks and he willed himself to be strong. He can do this! "I'm really sorry, Michael," he began. "I just—it's just that… I can't marry you. Sorry." Then he started to run away, out of the little chapel where the ceremony was supposed to take place. 

                "Quatre! Love! You can't do this! Does that mean you're willing to marry that homicidal maniac with the forked eyebrows?" Michael called after him in a vain attempt to salvage his wedding. "COMEBACK!"

                But Quatre would hear nothing of it. He was determined NOT to come back. He raced to where his car was parked and headed to the hotel, praying Trowa hasn't left yet. 

                He hastily got out of his car, not even bothering to turn the engine off, not caring if it was stolen or if it rolled down the street. Daddy can always buy me a new one. 

                He raced to the front desk, waving for the lady's attention. "The guy in Room 343? Has he checked out yet? Is he still up there? Well?"

                The lady looked stared at him for a while before typing and shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Winner but he checked out few minutes ago, just before you came in."

                Quatre's eyes narrowed and he sighed, shoulder slumping in a defeated manner. "Oh. I see. He didn't leave any note, did he?"

                The lady shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry."

                "It's okay," he said, feeling dejected all of a sudden. He might as well go back to their mansion and wait for his family's arrival from Europe. He made his way to the hotel's door, keeping his eyes on the ground. It'll be one lonely ride back to LA. 

                When he reached his car, he noticed a pair of feet in front of him. He looked up and to his delight, saw Trowa casually leaning against the car's side. "Hey," he greeted. 

                "What're you doing here?" Quatre asked incredulously. 

                Trowa shrugged. "I saw your car, left unguarded.  Thought maybe I'd stay here for a while till you get back. But then again, if it got stolen, I'm sure your daddy will buy you a new one. So how was the wedding?"

                Quatre grinned. "It went great! I left Michael standing in front of the minister alone. I couldn't go through it."

                Trowa nodded and moved closer to him. "That's good. 'cause you know, I like you a lot too," he winked. 

                Quatre hit him lightly on the arm. "You were awake!"

                Trowa shrugged. "I was thinking… would you like to go back too my place with me?"

                The blond pretended to think for a while then broke into a smile. "Sure. So what do we do in your place?"

                "Plant crops," Trowa replied. "Anyway, I'll take you with me but you have to promise me one thing."

                "Sure, what is it?"

                "I'll play hostage this time on the way there."

Fin

Disclaimers: I tried groveling by the owners feet, I even added a few teary-eyed effect. Nothing. They won't give budge, damn them. So yeah, Gundam Wing still doesn't belong to me. Pity.


End file.
